Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
CREW
I exhale into the darkness, half exhausted, half empathetic—the kind that crawls under your skin when you recognize someone else’s spiral because you’ve lived in it before.
Alma’s still stiff beside me. I can feel it without even looking at her, the way her body holds tension like it’s bracing for impact that’s already happened.
The cabin is quiet, save for the light breeze howling just outside the windows.
She shifts slightly once more, clutching the sheets to her chest. I sigh again, softer this time, and slide my arm beneath her, curling it around her waist. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving her time to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
Drawing her into my side, I set a palm against the small of her back. She’s warm through the fabric of my hoodie, but tight, wound up like piano wire.
“Is this okay?” I murmur into her hair, forcing myself to ignore how good she smells.
There’s a brief pause and then a simple, “Yes.”
That’s enough.
I start rubbing her back, steady and unhurried, my hand moving in slow passes up and down her spine. Nothing possessive or demanding. Just pressure, the kind that grounds you. The kind of touch that says you’re here, you’re not alone, you’re not falling apart by yourself.
“Try to breathe,” I tell her softly.
She nods subtly and follows my lead. It’s shaky and shallow at first, then deeper, evening out little by little. For a minute, it’s just that. Us in the dark. Two people who’ve already seen each other at their worst.
Eventually, she sets a hand to my chest and tilts her head back slightly. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Go for it.”
“How do you know how to do this?”
Brow curving curiously, I glance down at her. “Do what?”
“All of this.” She motions around us. “You’re calm. You know what to say, what to do. You don’t…panic.”
I almost smile at that, head turning back to stare up at the ceiling. “I do panic. I just don’t let it drive,” I admit. “I’ve had practice.”
She goes quiet in a way that tells me she’s not going to let that answer stand on its own. My gaze remains glued to the ceiling boards for another minute or so as I debate how much I want to give her. I don’t usually open this door for anyone. It doesn’t lead anywhere good.
“My dad wasn’t a good guy,” I start, instantly hating the way she tenses against me. “And that’s putting it mildly. He hurt people, killed a few, all for drugs.”
The words don’t feel dramatic anymore. They’re old news, worn, memories I’d erase if I could.
“And when he did,” I continue, “it was my job to make sure there wasn’t anything left behind. No witnesses, no evidence, no loose ends. Stupid on his part considering I was just a kid, but I guess he figured being my father wouldn’t leave me with much of a choice.”
The heater kicks on again right as she draws invisible shapes on my chest. I expect to feel pity, but there is none. Just the weight of her full, undivided attention. Letting out a quiet breath, I force myself to keep on.
“For a while, I figured that was just…my trajectory. When you grow up thinking this kind of thing is normal, it messes with your head. I was good at cleaning up messes before I was old enough to legally drive, which eventually led me to running with the wrong people. Nothing big at first, just small jobs and favors, the kind of shit that can turn into something bigger if you’re not careful. ”
Alma swallows. “And then?”
“And then I met your dad.”
She lifts her head at that, prompting me to gaze down at her once more. “He caught me doing something stupid. Could’ve handed me over, and truthfully he probably should’ve. Instead, he sat me down and scared the crap out of me in the most professional, controlled way possible.”
A faint breath of a laugh leaves her as if she’s all too familiar with the same tone.
“He told me I wasn’t doomed unless I decided I was.
He gave me work, real, legitimate work, checked in on me, didn’t treat me like I was broken, but didn’t let me use my past as an excuse, either.
When my dad died, he was there, got me into the Rangers.
I owe him my life, truly,” I sigh, my hand still rubbing the length of her back.
“So yeah, I know how to handle chaos. I just stopped creating it.”
Alma studies me for a long moment. There’s no fear in her expression, no disgust. All I see is a sense of understanding staring back at me.
The corners of her lips quirk slightly as she sets a gentle hand to my cheek, her thumb rubbing along the stubble there like she’s mapping the space between who I was and who I am now.
“That’s a heavy thing to carry alone,” she says quietly.
The words land differently than pity ever would’ve. They’re softer and more precise.
I shrug, purely because that’s my first instinct. “I got used to it.”
“That doesn’t mean you should’ve had to.”
Something in my chest shifts then, uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and before I can so much as deflect, she moves.
One second she’s curled into my side, the next she’s pushing up onto her elbows and swinging a leg over my hips.
I go still automatically, hands hovering at her waist but not touching until I’m sure.
She settles over me easily, dark hair falling around her shoulders, her eyes locked on mine.
“Alma,” I warn, my tone firm yet equally cautious.
She doesn’t respond with words. No, she leans down and kisses me. It’s not frantic or messy, but rather, deliberate. Her lips, warm and soft, tell a story of certainty, a silent way of saying she’s choosing this.
My hands slide to her hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her leggings. “Alma,” I try again.
But it doesn’t deter her. She simply eases back enough to look me in the eye, her browns bouncing back and forth between my blues.
“You said you were good at cleaning up the messes, right? You cleaned up the mess outside. Now clean up the mess in my head. Make me forget—even if it’s only for a little while. ”
I hesitate, a sheer moment away from shaking my head when she touches a lone finger to my lips.
“Please, Crew…. It’s so loud right now. I’ll never be able to sleep.”
The breeze howls once more, taking with it my rationale. “Fuck it,” I mutter, urging her flat against my chest.
Locking an arm around her waist, I thread a hand into her hair and smash our lips together.
She moans on contact and melts against me, molding to my body like she was always meant to be there.
Prior to this moment I would’ve told you it’s impossible to be so wholly obsessed with someone so quickly, but I’m there, utterly intoxicated by her scent, her taste, both needing and wanting so much more.
As if reading my mind, Alma rolls her hips against me, undulating in a maddening rhythm that has my cock harder than a rock within sixty seconds.
She hums approvingly and continues on it her feat, reaching around herself to guide my hands to her ass.
I’d tried my damnedest not to notice it, but it’s as lush and full as I’d imagined, begging for far more than a simple squeeze.
“Watch yourself, pretty girl,” I mumble against her lips. “These hands can do a lot more than just that.”